


Home for Christmas, or Three Ghosts and a Friar Walk Into a Train

by Ellynne



Series: Rumple's New Mirror [9]
Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Once Upon a Time (TV), Scrooge | A Christmas Carol (1970)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 10:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17282312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellynne/pseuds/Ellynne
Summary: The Golds are going home for Christmas after their trip to Hogwarts, but there are some other passengers on the train.





	Home for Christmas, or Three Ghosts and a Friar Walk Into a Train

“Oh, my. Now, _this_ is a nice train,” the Fat Friar said as he stepped into the passenger car.  “I’ve been on the Hogwarts Express now and again, but it’s nothing like this.”

The seats were velvet, a coal stove burned merrily to the side, and the rugs were thick and comfortable—or they would have been, if he’d been alive.  He sometimes wondered about his choice not to move on.  It wasn’t that he was afraid of what was on the other side, but there had been so much still to do on this one.  There still was. 

If that was vanity, not being able to enjoy earthly comforts the way he used to was a reasonable penance.  He’d taken vows of poverty but, during his life, he’d been remarkably good at wheedling meals out of people.  Granted, he’d also been a rather good healer in his day.  People tended to be rather generous with what they had when they’d just made an unexpected recovery.  But, he could have been better at turning them down.

Not that that was really going to be a problem today. . . .

The other three ghosts trundled in behind him.  “Oh, this won’t do!” the second one cheerfully boomed.  He reminded the Friar a bit of Hagrid.  He might not be quite as tall or wide, but he was the sort who blended into the foreground and stuck there.  The two, small tables in the room began to rearrange themselves while heavily laden trays and a tea trolley _and_ a dessert cart appeared.

The first ghost walked around replacing the pale, ghost lights in the oil lamps with little balls of golden light, smiling to herself as she worked.  “I appreciate it,” she said.  “This place has many memories.

The third ghost, the gloomy Gus of the trio (in the Friar’s opinion), stood off to the side, looking dark and dour as always.  _Oh, well, it’s his way,_ the Friar thought.  And there was no doubting number three had a good heart (metaphorically.  Literally, the Friar supposed they were all a bit heartless).

They had just settled in when the doors to the train opened again, and a family of living people tumbled inside.  They looked around, stunned, except for the father.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Mr. Gold said.

X

As far as Rumplestiltskin was concerned, there were two types of ghosts.  One type, the sort they’d ridden alongside while coming to this Britain, were echoes of the past who went about their undead lives ignoring the living.  The other sort were perfectly aware you were there and not shy about getting in your face about it.

He’d been looking forward to a quiet ride back and a chance to have a quiet word with Harry and ask him how he felt about getting a new sister.  Would he be excited? Upset? Say it was fine so long as Emma stayed out of Harry’s part of the house? And how much of the house would he decide was his?

Instead, he stepped into the train and saw four ghosts beaming happily at them.  Well, three beaming happily. The fourth was more of a dark shadow keeping to himself in the corner.  But, they were all ghosts, there was no doubt about that. 

He’d met one of them at Hogwarts, a plump, cheerful monk known only as “the Fat Friar” (or was it “Fryer”? It seemed indelicate to ask, especially if the name had something to do with how he’d died.  Boiling oil was such a messy death).  He was the usual, silver color of the train ghosts and the ones at Hogwarts.  But, the others. . . .

The dark shadow wasn’t really a dark shadow.  A closer look showed he was something wrapped in a dark, hooded cloak.  Very proper and spectral, Rumplestiltskin supposed.  The one sitting near the Friar, however, gave off a soft, golden glow, like candlelight or a warm fire.  There was a warm, safe feeling to her.  The only thing even vaguely threatening about her was the oddly shaped, black had she carried, like a giant candle snuffer.

Still, she was ghostly enough.  It was the third and final ghost who was as unhaunting as a ghost could get.

He was colorful, for one thing.  Ruddy complexion, green robe with white fur lining, he was a bit like the giant at the school, Hagrid, with the full, reddish beard tumbling down his chest.  But, Rumplestiltskin detected a much more intelligent gleam in his eye.

But, it was the wreath on his head that gave it away.  The holly wreath.  With icicles hanging from it like diamonds.

He was also sitting on a small throne rising high above what should have fit in a passenger car.  But, it was a ghost train.  No point in quibbling.  Also, no point in denying the gold goblets and platters of warm food surrounding him, like the layered steps of an ancient pyramid.  A small roast turned over an open fire.  It made it pretty obvious who he had to be.

Beside him, Belle gasped.  “You’re the Ghosts of Christmas!  Past, Present, and Future!”

The Ghost of Christmas Present let out a huge, belly laugh.  “She recognizes us!  Well done, Mrs. Gold, well done!”

Rumplestiltskin was tempted to ask if there were any more conjugations, but he refrained.  “As the only miserly money-lender present, I assume you want to talk to me?”

The Ghost of Christmas Present let out an even louder laugh.  “Not at all, Gold, not at all!  We’re just taking the train!”

X

“You’re dealing very well with this,” Belle said as the children started _another_ chorus of “I Like Life” with the Ghost of Christmas Present (or “Now” as Rumplestiltskin had decided to dub him).

“There’s nothing to deal with,” Rumplestiltskin said.

“I can hear you grinding your teeth.”

“Not with that racket, you can’t.”

“You always enjoy Christmas in Storybrooke.”

“We have a blizzard every year on Christmas in Storybrooke.” An odd effect of the curse.  Being snowed in on the holidays was one of the many, small miseries it came up with, not that it had ever inconvenienced the Golds.  It meant a day in their snug, warm house with no unwanted visitors (Gold, before leaving, had arranged the rental of large horse and sleigh for Dove to pick them up in.  If that failed, he had left emergency winter camping gear near where the ghost train should let them off.  If _that_ failed or had somehow gone missing, he had some emergency gear packed in their trunks that should let make an emergency shelter).  “It’s a wonderful holiday. Regina can’t get near us.” He glared at the singing ghost. “Or anyone else.”

The Ghost of Christmas Past (aka, “So Over It”) was suggesting 19th century parlor games.  Of course, she was.

The Friar sat down next to him.  “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I’m dealing,” Rumplestiltskin grated.

“Of course, you are.  But, that’s not the same as enjoying it, is it?”

Belle intervened.  “It is a bit loud.”

The Friar nodded sympathetically.  “A problem we always had at the school.  I’ve always preferred a quieter holiday myself.”

“And that’s why you spend it with these three?”

“I asked if they knew a way into your world.  They did.  And, here we are.”

“Wait, other world? What do you mean, other world?” Rumplestiltskin had spent centuries perfecting his innocent look.  It was a very good innocent look. 

The Friar didn’t buy it. “I mean the other world you’re traveling to on this train.”

Oh, well, it had been worth a try.  He supposed someone who’d spent centuries surrounded by students would get very good at telling truth from lies if he paid any attention at all. “Oh. Right.  That world.  But, you knew before you got on this train?”

“Well, you know.” He gestured toward his silvery frame.  “Ghost.  We go through walls.  And, sometimes, interdimensional barriers.  I’ve never done too much of that, myself.  But, undead people talk.  Not much else to do, really, being incorporeal and all.  Word gets around.  By the way, I heard about that clown you blasted a few years back.  Well done.”

“Er, you’re welcome.  Uhm, have you mentioned this to anyone living?”

“Meaning Dumbledore?  Can’t say as I have.  Don’t misunderstand.  He’s done his best as headmaster and he wasn’t a half-bad underground resistance leader during the last war, I suppose.”

Belle looked archly at the Friar.  “Bless his heart?” she suggested.

“Oh.  Hmm.  As to that.  I’m sure his heart’s in the right place.”

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes.  “If I ever need to put something pointy and sharp through it, that will be good to know.”

“Oh, now don’t be that way,” said the Friar. “I wanted to chat with you because I heard your meeting with the Headmaster didn’t go as well as he’d hoped.”

“Because I told him his school is a death trap?”

“Bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Hmm, let me see.  You went there, didn’t you?  And you’re dead.  You see where this is going?”

“I lived about a thousand years ago. Most people born back then are dead.”

“And the ghost in the toilet?  You have teachers who went to school with her.”

“Accidents do happen.”

“Especially when you let children play a sport on broomsticks several hundred feet above the ground with metal balls that are trying to knock them off.  They don’t even wear helmets.”

“I’ve heard of American football.  You really think it’s safer?”

“You have an entire school house devoted to suicidal stupidity—excuse me, to _bravery_ —”

“The Gryffindors.  You have me there.  The Founders believed a bit too much in the four elements.  They not only believed people were dominated by one or the other, they thought it was a good idea to put all the fiery, hotheads together and hope they didn’t burn the place down.” He managed to look downcast for all of three seconds before breaking out in a smile again. “But, there are three other houses.  He could wind up in one of them.  I heard you work in a library, Mrs. Gold?  Ravenclaw values intelligence.  It’s just the place for a studious reader.”

“Harry’s smart,” Belle said.  “But, I wouldn’t call him studious.  He’d rather be out doing things than reading about them.  Of course, he _is_ ten.”

“True enough.”

Rumplestiltskin said, “As for me, I don’t know if you have a house for dark lords, but I’d just as soon Harry didn’t wind up in it.”

“Oh, no,” the Friar said a bit too quickly.  “We don’t.  Never.  Absolutely not.  No matter what some people say.”

“I _see._ ”

“Besides, even if we had one, why do you think Harry would go there if he takes after you?  You strike me as the sort who would get on well in my own house, Hufflepuff.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the symbol of your house a small, furry animal?”

“A badger.  Horribly fierce, badgers are.  They’ve been known to fight off bears when their dens are threatened.  Don’t ever go up against one protecting hearth and home.  I think you’d make an excellent badger.”

Belle said, “He has you there, Rumple.”

 “Hardly.”

“You said Gryffindor was fire,” Belle said. “What’s Hufflepuff?”

“Earth,” the Friar said. “We’re enduring and known for our loyalty and hard work.”

“Is this sounding familiar, Rumple?”

“Since when am I hard working?  I’m one of the idle rich, remember?”

“Rumple, you’re a shopkeeper, lawyer, and landlord.  That’s three jobs.  You also do business loans and repairs for things like antique clocks.  Five.”

“I’m also an evil, dark lord.  I collect magic devices of pure evil as a hobby.”

“And, once you get them, you lock them up so they can collect dust.”

“So they did.  Even though I had a maid who was _supposed_ to keep that from happening.”

The Friar said, “There’s no reason you can’t be a Hufflepuff and a dark lord, if you really want.”

“Whoever I am, I’m going to have children in one piece.”

“Just think about it.  But, there was one other reason I wanted to talk to you.  I was having a little chat with the other ghosts.  You said you know about them?”

“I don’t have a clerk,” Rumple snapped. “Bob Cratchit or otherwise.  And we didn’t celebrate Christmas when I was a child, so don’t try to remind me of how I’ve changed since then.  It won’t work.”

“No, no, I wasn’t going to do that.  But, Christmas Yet to Come had something he wanted to show you.  Oh, and remember, these futures are only things that _might_ be, not things that _will_ be.”

Rumplestiltskin sighed.  Magic came with a price.  The price of riding on a ghost train was that, if annoying people sat down next to you, you had to put up with it (or you did until you could figure out how to turn a ghost into a snail).  “I can see the future,” Rumplestiltskin.  “And I can do it on all 365 days a year.” Or he could if Storybrooke hadn’t been trapped in its own time bubble.  Not that it mattered.

“Can you?  Still, a different perspective can help.  Parallax view, the Gray Lady calls it.”

“I don’t—” But, before Rumplestiltskin could get any further, Christmas Yet to Come (or “Later”) came sweeping in.  He reached out for Rumplestiltskin with a bony hand—

X

“Rumple?” Belle said.  “Rumplestiltskin?  Are you all right?”

Her husband opened his eyes, looking around the train as if he weren’t sure where he was.  The ghostly passengers continued to ignore the living, just as they before.  Outside the window, the Atlantic Ocean went by. 

“What—what happened?”

“You fell asleep.”

“I what?”

“Fell asleep.”  In the Enchanted Forest, Rumple almost never slept.  But, the curse had changed that.  He still didn’t need to sleep, not as much as he had before becoming the Dark One, but it happened.  “I think you were having a dream.” Or a nightmare.  She watched him worriedly.

Rumplestiltskin nodded slowly.  “A dream,” he said. “Yes, it was a dream.” From anyone else, that might have been reassuring.  But, when a wizard like Rumplestiltskin talked about dreams, they weren’t always _dreams_.  She’d heard the name he cried out before she woke him.

“A bad dream?” she pressed.

“I—I don’t know.”  He looked at Harry and Emma.  They were playing Encore again.  This time, the key word was “life.”  “I dreamt we were all together.  For Christmas Day.  You. Me. And our children.  All our children.”

“All—Baelfire?  You saw Baelfire?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded.  He kept watching Harry and Emma with something like horror in his eyes.

“But, Rumple, why was that a bad dream?  What’s wrong?”

“Because, if it was more than a dream—if it was a true dream, a piece of the future—we have to send Harry to Hogwarts.”  He fell silent as Harry began to sing “I Like Life,” and Emma demanded to know if he was making that song up.

Rumplestiltskin sighed.  “I’ll just have to destroy the school Quidditch field.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Catspook for pointing out that there is such a thing as a Hufflepuff Dark Lord and that Rumplestiltskin is one.
> 
> A (late) holiday story set in Taking the Underground.


End file.
